Who Really Was Bingo: the Farmer or the Dog?

Winston Weigand, Chronic Mansplainer

As I sit here in my expensive but smartly-decorated study late at night, I listen to the rain pound upon my house and the thunder roar with fury. My eyes are fixed on the table before me, and when a flash of lightning illuminates the room I catch a quick glance of my stack of scattered papers. Newspaper articles, popular magazines, crumpled fliers—all of them pertaining to one single question I have been chasing my entire life. Who really was Bingo?

Since the very moment humankind first grasped the abstract concept of time, every single person has been told the story of the farmer who had a dog. This tale has become so deeply ingrained in humanity’s mind, however, that a very large discrepancy has gone totally unnoticed. Indeed, from the ancient text it is known that this farmer had a dog, but the lyric, “and Bingo was his name-o” does not explicitly state who this “Bingo” truly was.

In an effort to find out, I have scoured the seven continents and spoken with police agencies, traveling shamans, motorbike gangs and even a Yorkshire Terrier who claims to be a descendent of … the dog. My travels have left me with countless, irreparable wounds—physical, mental and spiritual. I ask myself, “Was it worth it?” Tonight, it became worth it.

I sit up, mouth agape and knees shaking. In my hand is the last piece to the labyrinth of a puzzle that I have spent years assembling on my desk. It’s a snippet of Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, but backwards and every fourth letter is the thumbs-up emoji. I gently place it in its spot and my mind instantly collapses upon itself; a single tear glides down my face. Bingo’s true form has finally revealed itself to me … We are ALL Bingo.